


Bowl

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub, Dominance, Ficlet, M/M, Submission, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil sees no reason to leave for the washroom when he can have adequate replacements come to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bowl

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Because PT wasn’t sure if he would and he definitely would.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s downing the last of his glass when the urge strikes, though he keeps the rim pressed against his lips. The delicious slide of the bitter-sweet alcohol is never worth interrupting, no matter the consequences. He enjoys that final sip and lets his tongue slither out to catch whatever might remain. A languid swipe of his lips, and he can hear the halted breath beside him. Drinking wine, like everything, is something he does with grace. His subjects know it. And he allows them their quiet pining, so long as they still complete their duties. Heedless of Galion’s interest, Thranduil lets the faded aroma fill him, his lashes fluttering with delight. He can feel the slight flush on his cheeks. That was a good brew.

And he has plenty more of it. When he finally holds his glass aside, thumb and forefinger cupping the top as his other fingers stroke up and down the clear stem, Galion instantly comes to fetch it. There’s very little room on the platform where his throne resides, but there’s enough for one old elf to stand with a waiting tray. Thranduil pauses once to curl his tongue against his mouth, tasting what remnants he can, before drawling, “Fetch Meludir. Send him to me, and be slow in returning with the next bottle.”

Galion nods a tight, “Yes, my lord,” despite the confusion on his face. Meludir is still young, still low ranking, and has no access to Thranduil’s prime stores. For this, he doesn’t need to. It’s a separate, albeit related, need that Thranduil would like his sweet bed-servant to fill. 

Galion does as he’s told. He sweeps off down the long stairs, carefully walking in the middle because he’s been known to stumble nearly off, though only while drunk, of course. He should not be imbibing whilst serving Thranduil, but Thranduil doesn’t have the patience to monitor what goes on in his kitchens. Nor to leave his grand throne for small, albeit inconvenient needs. Fortunately, he has a very eager staff that can make do. 

The wait for his orders to be filled feels longer than usual, though Thranduil is a generally patient man. Though immortal, his body still has certain functions that demand indulgence. He shifts several times in his seat but receives only minor, temporary relief. He’s drunk too much tonight, though he has no intention of stopping. At least this is a problem he’s faced many times before, and he has excellent self-control. 

Finally, he spots the orange-gold hair of Meludir in the distance. Meludir hurries along the steps, not quite running, but certainly not walking. He always tries to be so composed, mimicking his regal king, but his enthusiasm for his master betrays him. By the time he reaches the circular dais just beneath Thranduil’s throne, Meludir is slightly flushed and breathing hard, likely more from interest than exertion. He drops instantly to his knees, bowing his head, and he asks in his sugary voice, “How may I serve you, my lord?”

Somehow, Thranduil never quite tires of these displays. Meludir is a beautiful specimen, his submission pretty and complete. Though all of Thranduil’s servants are so dedicated, few of them look so tempting when they show it. Yet Thranduil keeps his voice neutral, almost bored, when he bids, “You may approach.”

Meludir can hardly contain his excitement, though his head remains bowed, a certain shyness across his soft features. He pushes to his feet and climbs the curved stairs, and there’s just enough room on the highest platform for him to kneel again at Thranduil’s feet. If he had room, he would probably bend far enough to kiss Thranduil’s boots, but instead, his head stays next to Thranduil’s knees. He likely knows what’s coming, and his devotion doesn’t waver. 

“I do not wish to make the lengthy trip from my throne simply to avail myself of basic amenities,” Thranduil explains, his legs already spreading in anticipation of Meludir’s acceptance. “I trust you will not mind obliging?”

“I would be honoured to relieve my lord,” Meludir replies instantly, and when Thranduil can’t suppress a small chuckle, he adds, “It is _always_ an honour to drink from my lord.” It isn’t so much honour in his voice as _yearning_ , as though he thinks of this whenever he drinks from any other source. Thranduil would not put that past him. 

Thranduil pushes to the edge of his seat, nimbly opening the front of his robes just along his crotch, enough to slip his cock between them. Meludir has an instant hitch of breath. His eyes go hazy just from looking at it, brows knitting together and face flushed with _want_ , though Thranduil makes it clear, “You are merely serving a simple function.” In truth, Thranduil has fed him other things like this as well, but it should be clear that he isn’t hard at the moment and will not require the typical tricks and skills that Meludir employs. Meludir nods his head in understanding. 

“I am merely serving a simple function,” Meludir repeats huskily, as though he has to remind himself. When Thranduil wraps his hand around the base, he presses the tip of his long cock against Meludir’s plush lips for a reward. Meludir unsuccessfully tries to stifle a moan. Thranduil allows Meludir that moment to savour the makeshift kiss, and then he pushes forward, forcing Meludir to open his mouth. 

As he’s been trained to do, Meludir opens wide, careful with his teeth and laying his tongue flat against the bottom of his mouth, so that Thranduil can easily feed him more and more. The trip inside is an easy, smooth one, despite the erotic look on Meludir’s face, as though he’s willing himself _so hard_ not to close his mouth and suck. Thranduil pushes right down his throat to eliminate any chance at spilling—he doesn’t want to make a mess. He’s tried this with other servants before, but Meludir is the quickest to swallow and has no trouble with his gag reflex, making it a silky, simple process. When he’s fully sheathed down Meludir’s tight throat, Thranduil leans idly back in his chair. 

Then he lets himself go. 

It’s a pleasant reprieve as soon as it starts. He relinquishes his tight control and gives his body what it wants. He spills himself into the hot cavern waiting for him and gets to watch the immediately pleasure on Meludir’s pretty face. He swallows happily, drinking it down, while still more floods his mouth and trickles down the back of his tongue. Thranduil closes his eyes once, sighing contentedly, but then he hears Meludir’s whimper—another stifled moan—and he opens his eyes again, enjoying the sight. Meludir’s always had such beautiful lips, pink and glossy and dazzling when they smile, but they look just as good stretched around Thranduil’s cock. There’s only the whisper of a smell; Meludir drinks everything down before it can escape into the open air. He swallows again and again, tasting the secondhand wine and seeming to savour it as much as Thranduil did going down. The rush is quick but long, and Meludir faithfully guzzles load after load. Thranduil let the build up go too long. He feels already like his stomach is deflating, yet he only wishes he had _more_. The control over his servant is as intoxicating as the alcohol, and Thranduil has to wonder why he doesn’t simply keep Meludir at his feet for every time he must relieve himself. Clearly, Meludir would welcome the job. 

As the stream slowly putters to its end, Meludir turns to sucking, his chin tilting forward. He tries to bury himself deeper into Thranduil’s crotch, but Thranduil is already spilling all he has to give. Even when it’s down to a few drops, Meludir suckles away at the thick cock in his mouth. It gives Thranduil the filthy idea of grabbing Meludir’s cock and milking him out, just to see him lick it off the floor. 

Thranduil isn’t quite that cruel, of course. He knows that Meludir would happily lap up anything his lord told him to, but for now, he’ll have to content himself with Thranduil’s piss. He stays on after the river has reached its end, and Thranduil allows him those few extra seconds as a reward for a job well done. 

Then he purrs in warning, “Meludir,” and his pretty servant sheepishly pulls off. He licks at his lips afterwards, clearly as eager to have every last drop inside him as Thranduil was with the original wine. He tucks himself back into his robes with tired hands and straightens back out, while Meludir looks up at him with wide, sparkling eyes and rosy, used lips. 

It’s a pity to let Meludir go. But Thranduil can always send for more service once he’s retired to his chambers for the night. For now, the poor thing will need some time to clean himself up. Thranduil waves a dismissive hand and bids, “See that Galion returns with my wine.”

Meludir says breathlessly, “Yes, my lord.” He bows as low as he can, then turns to crawl towards the stairs, only slinking to his feet once he’s descending them. He radiates arousal as he leaves, so much so that Thranduil considers calling a guard after him to see that he isn’t ravished by anyone else. Only because he isn’t a tyrant, Thranduil holds himself back, reminding himself that he can’t have all the elves in the Greenwood as solely his toys every moment of every day. ...As tempting as it might be. 

Yet as he lounges back in his magnificent kingdom, he can’t help but conjure up ideas for tonight, where he may use his favoured, overzealous pet once again.


End file.
